believed in Idalia, as with a woman's absolute unquestioning belief; it struck him hardly, deeply, to know by her own tellíng that she had these ruined broken lives, these Circean cruelties in her past; that the witching splendour of her sorcery had been thus steeped in tears of blood, thus bartered for the gain of triumph and dominion. No fear for himself even now crossed him; his courage was too bold, his passion too ardent. It was the knowledge that she should thus have stained the beauty and the genius of her life, which came on him, not unlooked for, since he had ere this known that there were error and remorse upon her, yet bitter as the fall of what is treasured and is reverenced must ever be, however love remain faithful and unshaken to that fall's lowest depth.
"One question only," he said to her, while his voice was low and tremulous. "Through this, was there never one whom you loved?"
She met his gaze fully, thoughtfully, truly he could have sworn, or never eyes spoke truth.
"Not one!"
"Is it possible?"
She smiled a little, with her oíd weary irony.
"Very possible. Poets have written much about the love of women; I do not think it a tithe so
